


Return To The Moon, Please

by teenuviel1227



Series: Crank The Sun [1]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: M/M, everyone else is mentioned in passing, musicjournalist!Jae, tattooartist!Brian, there's sexual content but it's not too explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: The one where Brian is the most esteemed tattooist in Hong Kong and Jae is a music journalist who finally decides to get a tattoo for his thirtieth birthday.





	Return To The Moon, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [may_day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_day/gifts).



> Hope you guys enjoy this one. :) Something short and sweet for a Saturday afternoon. Title is from Return To The Moon by EL VY. Yeah, obviously they’re a bit older in this one. Sorry for any typos, I wrote it on the fly. I’ll proofread and correct further soon.
> 
> I’m lazy to do the coding thing, but yeah.
> 
> Twt: @teenuviel1227  
> CC: curiouscat.me/teenuviel1227

Sure, Jae had read about him, had seen pictures of him, had followed him on Instagram--@youngk93-- since his friend (Wonpil of the neo-R&B duo DoPe Illie) had recommended him when Jae said that this was going to be the year that he got a tattoo--never mind that that was two years ago, now. Sure, Jae had liked every photo of a new tattoo YoungK posted, had read every IG story-come-journal entry as it came up, but somehow he hadn’t expected him to be, well, like _this_.

Sure, Brian looks the way he does in photos: handsome, well-built with a good, strong frame, a warm smile, eyes that could kill if you weren’t careful--but that isn’t what catches Jae off-guard.

As a music journalist, Jae’s used to being surrounded by good looking people, talented people, charismatic people--he’d interviewed Chris Cornell out of the backseat of his old Mustang a few months before he’d died, he’d talked to _the_ Park Sungjin in his tour bus the night before he announced that he was going to be releasing a record for the first time in twelve years, he’d managed to do an in-depth interview with Zion T. __as they crossed__ the Yanghwa bridge on a motorcycle, he’d sat in a hot tub with the Kaulitz twins for an episode of Tokio Hotel TV right before they dropped their latest album. He’s a veteran despite only being thirty (well, twenty-nine, thirty tomorrow), has taken advantage of his bilingual skills, his appreciation of a variety of genres, his Twitter popularity--and has let the tide of the K-Rock boom lift him higher and higher on music journalist ranks.

Jae is used to being around hot, ridiculously skilled people of all shapes, sizes, colors, genders, ramen noodle preferences.

What catches him off-guard is that Brian is extremely responsible. After a lot of debate and checking his yearly schedule for the nth time, Jae’d finally booked the appointment six months before, had known he’d be in Hong Kong for one of the winter music festivals, had made plans to stay the extra day for the tattoo, decided that he may as well go and do it--then no one, not even Pil, could mock him for “never actually going and getting that tattoo”. His thorough exploration of every Reddit thread for first-timers had told him not to expect the artists to reply immediately to e-mails, not to expect them to offer you any special help if you were a foreigner, not to follow up with you once the date was set. If there’s a time and a date, then it’s a go unless otherwise stated.

But Brian had immediately replied to Jae’s design e-mail pitch, with all of the details in tact: he specialized in line and dot work so he would definitely be running with that, for Jae’s frame from the photos that he’d sent, he wouldn’t recommend anything bigger than 3.5 inches so as to better frame the shape of his arm as the tattoo curled around it. He’d set a price, a tentative time and date, a very rough pencil-sketch of what he had in mind. Jae had approved, had marked the date, and was surprised when the first e-mail he got upon landing in Hong Kong wasn’t from the festival organizers but from Brian, asking if he’d landed alright, if the appointment stood, if he could get him anything to make the session more comfortable--special requests for specific coffee , juice, or snacks.

Jae had declined after letting Brian know he’d landed safely, and yes, would be keeping his appointment--but when he’d walked into the studio, Brian had welcomed him warmly and given him a cold bottle of strawberry Mogu-Mogu, some delicious biscuits, and a small kit for tattoo aftercare.

 _I Googled you,_ Brian said casually as he went about preparing the equipment, setting the needles on a tray and putting them into the sterilizer. _Hope you don’t mind but it’s half a safety precaution since I live upstairs, half a hospitality thing because people tend to be shy to ask for what they want. Saw you liked Strawberry-flavored things but were lactose intolerant--so ix-nay on milk tea or milkshakes for sure. I figured. Mogu-Mogu’s kind of a compromise._

 _It’s great, thanks _,__ Jae had replied, trying not to let his new-found nervousness show.

Jae thinks Mogu-Mogu is the shit. He finishes the bottle in two gulps.

He glances up at Brian, who is doing a goofy dance to an electropunk song that Jae has--surprisingly--never heard. Brian is moving his shoulders up and down like they’re see-saws with two overly hyper kids playing on them. He mouths the words, shakes his hips like a really bad (because it’s kind of sexy) impression of someone wearing a Barney suit. He puts on electric pink (pink!) latex gloves before he finishes the stencil and cuts the design out with a pair of scissors.

_Return to the moon, I’m dying_

_Return to the moon, please_

The keyboard melody tickles Jae’s ears. __So good.__ He looks around him, at the studio: it’s furnished in a way that is spick and span but cozy, lived-in, decorated with lamps and an old, emerald-green sofa right out of a Wong Kar Wai film. An electric-pink sign spells out YoungK Tattoo in wide, rolling cursive.

“Alright,” Brian says, looking up at Jae as he turns down the music. He holds up the stencil. “How about we get this on you?”

“Okay,” Jae says, getting up off the sofa and walking toward him.

“Uh, you wanna take off your shirt? Or are you more comfortable just rolling up your sleeve?” Brian tilts his head as if trying to make out the dimensions of Jae’s blue button-down. Strands of his long, platinum blonde hair stray from his ponytail and fall into his eyes. He tosses his head, eyebrows furrowed. His silver earrings catch in the light.

Jae thinks he might die right about now.

“Or you could borrow a shirt from me--”

Jae blushes, realizing a) he’d worn the wrong shirt for today and b) he’d been staring. “--what, no, wait let me try first--”

He rolls his sleeve up but it won’t go past an inch above the crook of his elbow. Brian lets out a soft laugh. He looks like a different person when he’s laughing--less too-cool-for-school, more class clown. He waves a hand nonchalantly.

“--it’s fine. You can just take off your shirt. I don’t have any other clients coming in today anyway and I don’t do walk-ins so it’s just us.”

Jae feels sweat beading on his upper lip. He swallows, hopes to god that Brian doesn’t hear it. “Alright, cool.”

Jae watches Brian watch him as he undoes his shirt. Jae’s heart is racing. He isn’t exactly the most buff guy--although, well, none of his previous partners had ever complained. He peels the shirt off of him, baring his pale shoulders which are tinged pink in the light.

Brian’s eyebrows are furrowed in contemplation, curiosity.

“What now?” Jae asks, turning to drape his shirt over the seat.

Brian turns on the desk lamp. “Now, we adjust.”

His hands are warm, broad. Brian re-positions the design until he's satisfied, certain he's gotten it just right. His hands feel good on Jae's skin as they press the design onto Jae’s arm firmly. He goes over the surface of the paper once with a roll-on gel stick of deodorant. Jae watches in wonder as Brian peels back the stencil and the design is there on his skin, a dark purple outline. His anxiety dissipates, is replaced by excitement, awe.

“Yo, that’s so sick!” Jae exclaims, laughing. He turns his arm, trying to get a glimpse of the whole design.

“You have to wait for it to dry for a bit,” Brian says, grinning at Jae’s enthusiasm. “Just try and relax. I take it this is your first time?”

Jae grins. “What gave me away? Was it the awe at deodorant or the fact that I have the milk-complexion of a baby’s bottom?”

Brian laughs. “Mostly the deodorant. And hey, some people would kill to be that smooth. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Thirty tomorrow,” Jae says.

“Oh shit. The big 3-0.”

“Yeah. I feel like that’s kind of old to be getting my first tatt?” Jae shrugs, looks at his feet.

Brian shakes his head. “No such thing. Everything comes in its own time. Some people get tattooed at sixteen, stick-and-poking their way around regulation because they think they’re ready. Some people get tattooed at fifty because they’ve finally made up their minds to commit to a design they can live with.”

“How old were you?” Jae asks, meeting Brian’s eye. Jae grins, deciding to turn on the charm, to flirt a little. He leans in as if to whisper. “And what was it of, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Brian’s lips curl into a small, mischievous smile. “I was twenty-two. It was an arctic fox.”

Jae raises an eyebrow. “Oooooh. Any interesting stories there?”

“So you __are__ a journalist."

Jae chuckles. “You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

Brian grins, reaches into his pocket to put on a pair of black, horn-rimmed glasses. "Maybe later."

Jae’s stomach does a somersault. _Christ _.__

Brian nods at Jae’s arm. “That stencil looks like it’s good to go.”

 

 

It’s like being scratched by a cat on fire, repeatedly--and Jae almost wishes that he hadn’t agreed to the beautiful, intricate line-work design, wishes he’d just gotten something geometric and exactly 1x1 inches in dimension. The operative word being _almost_  because as terrible as the pain is, Brian’s hands are something else: the pain is mostly from the needle, but Brian's touch is comforting, at once feather-lite and firm. The palm of his left hand holds Jae’s arm in place, is steady as a rock. His right hand goes like magic, tracing out the design, wiping the surface with petroleum jelly and a paper towel in turns as they both watch the design come to life: flick of the wrist, gentle finger work.

Brian is leaning so close that Jae can smell his shampoo--blueberry and vanilla--and can see the way that his hair sweeps up into his ponytail, the way the small hairs on his nape curl gracefully as if to frame the twin moles on his neck. Jae is in pain, both painful and pleasurable.

“You okay?” Brian asks, glancing up at Jae past the rim of his glasses. “Just tell me if you need to take a break.”

Jae shakes his head even if he would, very much, like to stop being poked with a needle. _Stop being a baby _.__ “I’m good.”

Brian grins. “Good boy.”

Jae’s toes curl.

“So why a lotus flower?” Brian asks.

Jae opens his mouth to answer and knows Brian asked because the next bit is excruciating--the needle moves lower, the curve of the petal reaching down just above the ditch of Jae’s elbow. “Fuckk--”

“--we’re almost there,” Brian says soothingly, dipping a pinky into the petroleum jelly, smoothing it over the surface of Jae’s skin. Ink blurs. “Come on, talk to me.”

“Well, they represent a lot of things, but the meanings I gravitated toward were purity and rebirth. It’s not easy being a music journalist, you know--and a young one at that. A lot of my colleagues who’ve made it have either lost their sense of self and stopped writing altogether __or__ they’ve gone completely the other way and taken all the sponsorships, all of the endorsment offers, and completely forgotten that journalism is about telling the truth. I’ve waited so long to get it because I figure 30 is a good age for integrity. Like you've  _lived_ at that point, you know? I’ve been through a lot but I’m still here and I’m still trying to tell the truth so I figure I deserve it.”

“That’s awesome,” Brian says, nodding. He does a couple of dot-work details. Those don’t hurt as much. Jae breathes out a sigh of relief. Brian hears but doesn’t say anything about it. “I have a lotus flower on my chest--but the meaning I ascribe to it is discipline, self-improvement. I was a wild child when I was younger. I was an exchange student in Toronto and living on my own for all of high school which is a terrible idea if you want to get anything done. I mean, I wanted to keep the scholarship, so of course, I did everything required of me--but on the weekends, I drank like a crazy person, smoked up like a crazy person, and of course, slept around like a crazy person until I met my first boyfriend. When I graduated, I realized I’d ticked all the boxes but didn’t really have anything I was striving for, no goal in mind.”

Jae feels curiosity tugging at him, noting the word _boyfriend_ , the short pause after it. Jae glances down, sees a sliver of Brian’s sleeve--black line-work too, a pattern like a wave, a glimpse of some petals--peek out from where his sweater’s rolled up at the wrists. He wants to see it all, wants to let his eyes, his hands roam over the expanse of his back, his chest. “How old were you when you got that?”

“Twenty-five. I was apprenticing under JYP. You heard of him?”

“Yeah, dude. I wasn’t born yesterday. He’s like the OG SKr Tattoo GOD.”

“Right, but since tattooing as a profession isn't legal back home, I did my apprenticeship in Taipei where he set up shop before moving to Hong Kong--I kind of followed him here, really. When he accepted my application as his apprentice, I asked if he would do me the honor of tattooing the lotus on me as a way of reminding myself that I’ve always got to strive to be better, to do more, to take my skill higher.”

“And look at you now,” Jae says, his heart swelling with admiration.

Brian grins, looking up, satisfied. “And look at __you__ now. All done.”

Jae looks down at his arm. He’s thrown--the design is beautiful: intricate but simple enough to stand out against the negative space of his pale skin. The flowers’ petals curl open, wrapping around his arm, flowing with the natural shape of his body.

“Holy shit. That’s beautiful.”

Brian smiles. “Okay, now let me clean you up. This is going to sting a bit.”

Brian shakes a spray can filled with a solution of water and hypoallergenic soap before spritzing it onto Jae’s skin. It stings but in a good way. The excess ink runs. Jae feels his heart sink because the session is almost over. Brian presses softly onto the tattoo with a fresh paper towel, cleaning it as best he can before slathering a thin layer of petroleum jelly over it and wrapping it with plastic wrap. He seals the cling wrap in place with two small pieces of medical tape before taking off his gloves.

“Thank you,” Jae says. He reaches for his shirt, makes to put it back on and immediately regrets it. His arm stings, plastic hitting flesh. “Fuck--”

“--woah, okay. I got you.” Brian reaches for the shirt, helps Jae put it on, letting the fabric glide over his arms, his shoulders. Jae’s heart races as Brian fixes his collar, his deft fingers buttoning the shirt up.

“Thanks,” Jae says more quietly.

“You’re welcome.” Brian lingers a little on the last button before letting go, stepping away.

Jae reaches for his wallet. “Right. I owe you a hundred and--”

“--how about you buy me dinner instead?”

“Wait, __really__? Are you a) sure and b) crazy?”

Brian contemplates the question. “c) all of the above.”

 

 

The Kowloon area is famous for its small, affordable eateries. Brian takes Jae to his favorite one--a place that is open round-the-clock and famous for their hand-pulled noodles and sweet pork buns. It’s one of those places that are clean but which has retained its historic feel, has remained true to their roots. Brian orders them a feast--sweet pork buns, three sets of dim-sum, noodles in signature broth, special iced sweet tea with tapioca.

Brian grins as Jae tastes everything, reacting to each dish with an __oh my goodness that’s so good.__

 _ _“__ So,” Jae says, biting into a pork bun. “Tell me about the arctic fox.”

Brian laughs. He takes a shrimp dumpling and plops it into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully before answering. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Jae shrugs, digging into his soup. “Perfect.”

“Well,” Brian says, taking a sip from his tea. “This is going to sound so cliche but my first boyfriend was a tattooist and that’s how I got into it. I don’t want to name any names cause he’s one of the most famous tattooed models in Canada right now so you’ve probably heard of him--”

“--yo, are we talking about T--”

“--anyway,” Brian says, waving his chopsticks dismissively. “Who he is is irrelevant. We’re still friends anyway. But he always said that I reminded him of an arctic fox because I was kinda sly and clever and did well in cold weather even if I claimed to hate it. He also said he thought they were super cute, so there was that. When I moved away for my college--I studied business, god knows why--we didn’t get to talk much and then we broke up and things were stupid for a while. I started tattooing on the side after that. When I went back to Toronto on vacation, we talked it out, decided to stay friends and it was really nice getting that closure. And he was like _hey, Burger King,_ _ _how about we celebrate our friendship by giving each other friendship tattoos__  and I was like _yeah, t _hat’s a great idea.__ I didn’t know I’d be committing to a whole fucking back piece--”

Jae snorts. “--no fucking way.”

“Way,” Brian says, chuckling. “He did it freehand. And it’s beautiful, he’s a super talented guy but you know. Baptism by fucking fire.”

“What’d you give him?”

Brian snorts. “I wasn’t very good back then so I gave him this cheesy text tattoo that says “I am not afraid to keep on living”. It’s--from an MCR song.”

“Famous last fucking words,” Jae bursts out laughing. “Poor guy.”

Brian balls up a piece of tissue and tosses it at Jae playfully. “Hey! He liked it.”

Jae laughs. “He must’ve been a good friend. Dude, I could never stay friends with an ex-boyfriend. All or nothing, you know?”

They hold each others’ gaze for a moment, both of them smiling. The food is almost finished. The clock by the door reads 11:59 PM.

“When do you leave for California?” Brian tries to keep the question casual but it hangs between them like a collect call--loaded, heavy with expectation.

“Tomorrow,” Jae replies, moving to slurp up the last of his broth. “Bright and early. Eight in the morning.”

“Ah. Right.” Brian glances up. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Jae looks behind him. The clock reads 12:01 AM. “Thanks.”

“Any birthday wishes?”

Jae grins. “I have one but I’m not sure it’s appropriate--”

Brian raises an eyebrow. “--oh yeah?”

“--and it’ll be kind of inconvenient--”

“--how so?”

“I mean like I said, my flight leaves at eight--”

“--I have a car,” Brian says. “I mean. I could drive it. In the morning.”

“--and then there’s the tattoo.”

Brian sets his chopsticks down.

“I can be gentle.”

 

 

They decide on Jae’s hotel for the convenience of the wake-up call, for the free coffee in the morning, to save them a trip for picking up Jae’s baggage. They make a stop at the convenience store, pick up supplies before heading up to Jae’s room. They begin in the elevator, Brian stepping in to kiss Jae as soon as the doors slide shut. It’s passionate but tentative, soft but urgent. Jae sighs into it, keeping a hand on Brian’s nape. Brian pulls Jae in closer by the waist, by the fabric of his oversized shirt. Jae parts his lips to let Brian in. They both taste of sweet and spice, salt and syrup.

When they get there, they make straight for the bed. Jae turns the bedside reading lamp on with fumbling fingers. Brian helps Jae out of his shirt, kissing softly down the line of his neck. He moves carefully, sure not to disturb the wrapping on his tattoo.He laughs softly. "This shirt's been getting in the way all damn day."

Jae laughs. He unbuttons his jeans, kicks them off. Brian helps him get into bed, kissing him softly before pulling away to undress himself, taking off his sweater, his jeans.

Brian’s body is covered in beautiful artwork, the lines and dots, details exquisite. There's just enough space between each piece for it to stand out, to compliment his lean but curvy physique, his solid frame. Jae takes it all in, letting his eyes linger, enjoying the site of Brian in the mingled silver of the moonlight and bronze warmth of the reading lamp. Brian undoes his ponytail, shakes his hair loose. It falls across his face, his neck, his back.

“Goddamn,” Jae says.

Brian tucks a strand behind his ear, taking time to take the sight of Jae in--long legs, dark hair matted to his forehead from the heat of kissing, slender shoulders like silver milk in the moonlight. “Look who’s talking.”

With that, Brian climbs into bed, sliding carefully, tenderly over Jae, one hand slipping behind his nape to support his neck, the other around his waist, sure not to disturb Jae’s sore arm. Brian begins to grind, slipping a thigh between Jae’s legs as he kisses him slow, deep.

“OH fuck--” Jae arches up against Brian.

“--you okay?” Brian asks softly, letting their erections brush together, grinding harder.

“Yeah, yeah that feels so good--” Jae bucks his hips, craving friction.

“--let’s take our time, shall we?” Brian lets out a soft chuckle, pinning Jae's hips down softly.

Jae leans up to nip at Brian’s lower lip. “Fuck me. It’s my birthday.”

 

 

They don’t sleep. Afterwards, they clean up and kiss each other senseless, showering together with warm water, letting it wash over them, the presence of the other more than making up for the absence of sleep. They sit on the bathroom counter as Brian helps Jae clean his tattoo with warm water and soap, washing away the excess ink and blood plasma before patting it dry carefully. He applies antibacterial ointment for the trip home, going in soft, circular motions.

“Better to let it breathe,” Brian says before kissing Jae softly. “If you have a layover, try and see if you can clean up and reapply the ointment. I don’t trust the quality of water on planes. And don't forget to put on a clean shirt."

“Thanks, Bri,” Jae says, smiling at his reflection. He’s never felt more himself than he does in this moment: thirty and flirty and thriving, something out of a stupid romcom he would never tell anyone he enjoyed (memorized, actually). The lotus flower looks beautiful on his arm, like it belongs there, all curling petals and swooping lines. Brian comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Jae, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“This is going to sound weird and maybe weirdly forward,” Brian says. “But I don’t want you to go yet.”

Jae smiles, letting his fingertips brush along Brian's forearms. “This is going to sound even weirder and even more forward but I don’t want to go yet either.

With that, they walk back into the bedroom. Jae orders them coffee and breakfast early, so they can have a last meal together in bed before he leaves.

"I want to see you again," Jae says softly after he hangs up. Brian looks at him, scoots closer until they're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

Brian leans against Jae. "Me too."

Outside the window, the sun is just about to rise over the horizon, the moon still refusing to dip behind the curtain of dawn.

For now, they have time.


End file.
